


The Mystery Frequency

by pinstripesuit



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripesuit/pseuds/pinstripesuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Gravity Falls Music Festival approaches, Dipper discovers a strange broadcast on the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery Frequency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leidolette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leidolette/gifts).



“Goooooood morning, Gravity Falls!” the radio chimed from the kitchen counter. As they covered their waffles with a copious amount of maple syrup, Dipper and Mabel half-listened to the announcer run through the usual reports -- the news, local interest stories, birthdays of note. One bit of news immediately caught Mabel’s attention:

“This Saturday, it’s the annual Gravity Falls Music Festival, hosted by yours truly at KRPY! The GFMF this year will be held at the town square in downtown Gravity Falls, newly-renovated after last autumn’s possum infestation. Everyone in town is welcome on stage, whether you play the guitar, piano or even the nose flute. The best musician at the GFMF will win $1,000 and free pancakes at Greasy's Diner for the rest of the year. So all of you musicians out there, tune up your instruments and get out your sheet music! And now, the traffic report...”

Mabel squealed, almost knocking over the Sir Syrup bottle. “Dipper! We should _totally_ do that!”

“Do what?” Dipper asked, spearing a piece of waffle on his fork.

“Play at the GFMF!” Mabel replied, her eyes widening as her brain filled with ideas. “You still have your tuba laying around, right?”

Dipper nearly choked on his orange juice. “What? Play in _front_ of people?”

“Yep! Come on, it’ll be fun!” Mabel said, nodding enthusiastically. 

“No way!” Dipper protested. “If I need to remind you, I have a traumatic history of singing and dancing in front of other people.”

“You mean the Lamby Lamby Dance? Pssh! That was years and years ago…” Mabel pointed out, pouring more syrup onto her plate.

“Y-yeah, years and years ago…” Dipper said, glancing off to the side.

“No lamby costumes, I promise,” Mabel assured him. “Oh my god! The band can be you, me and Soos! And Waddles can play the tambourine. It’ll be _adorable!_ ”

“I don’t know…” Dipper replied. “Being up in front of everyone… What if we embarrass ourselves?”

“No one’s going to care. It’s just people from the town, and it’s just for fun,” Mabel said.

“An exciting update on the Gravity Falls Music Fest!” the radio announcer exclaimed. “Joining us at the GFMF will be famous music producer Rick Reuben. He’ll be on the lookout for some new talent, and one lucky Gravity Falls resident could find themselves with a record contract!”

“Nope!” Dipper exclaimed, crossing his arms. “Now I’m definitely not doing it. There will be someone there who can _really_ judge me.”

“Di--ipper” Mabel groaned. “Don’t be a stick-inna-mud.”

“So all of you aspiring musicians out there, be sure to practice extra hard!” the radio continued. “And now, KPRY brings you the weather -- 2...3...4...DROP...2...3...4...DROP...2...3...4…”

“--Wait! What was that?” Dipper hopped down from his chair and rushed up to the counter to inspect the radio.

“That’s some strange weather we’re getting,” Mabel commented.

“What was what in the what?” Grunkel Stan asked, padding into the kitchen. He headed straight to the coffee maker, scratching at a stain on his undershirt.

“That noise on the radio,” Dipper explained, picking up the radio. It crackled again, spewing out another sequence of random numbers and words read by a creepily serene woman’s voice: “5...6...7...ROCK...5...6...7...ROCK...5...6...7...”

“See?” Dipper asked, holding the radio up to Grunkel Stan. “What is it?”

“Back in the day, spies would broadcast secret messages over low-frequency stations on the radio,” Stan explained. “They’re called ‘numbers stations.’” He poured himself a mug of gritty black coffee. “Sometimes you can still pick up the signals.”

“What’s it supposed to mean?” Mabel asked, poking at the radio’s plastic casing.

“I wouldn’t go digging into it too much,” Stan warned, shaking his coffee mug at them. “If it is spies, there’s no telling what trouble you could get into. Then it’s all black helicopters and cold prison showers. I ain’t going through that again.” He padded out the kitchen, still muttering about men in black suits and grassy knolls.

“Anyway,” Mabel interjected. “Come on, Dipper, let’s go practice! I already have an idea for a song!”

“Yeah, I’ll be right over,” Dipper replied distantly, still staring at the radio in his hands.

\---

“So what’s your band called?” Wendy asked, hanging out behind the counter in the Mystery Shack’s gift shop. 

“The Electric Candyland, featuring ‘Let-Loose’ Soos and Waddles ‘The Duke’ Pines,” Soos replied as he set up his keyboard in the corner of the shop. He started practicing with the sound effects buttons on the keyboard, while Waddles used the tambourine Mabel had given him more as a chew toy than a musical instrument.

“A bit wordy, but cool,” Wendy commented, smirking. “What song are you going to play?”

“Soos is writing it!” Mabel proclaimed, grinning.

“I have reached into the depths of my heart to write a song that speaks to the heart of the human experience,” Soos explained. Pressing some keys on his keyboard, he took a deep breath in preparation to sing:

”In my life I felt so alone...

Nothing ever felt quite right…

And then -- suddenly! -- you appeared

And you completely changed my life!

“Tacos! You’re my sun and moon!

Tacos! You make me swoon!

So hot and spicy and delicious and crunchy

You saved me from all this gloom!”

Mabel applauded as Soos bowed. “Thank you, thank you…”

“Now I’m hungry for tacos,” Wendy mused. “What instrument are you playing, Dipper?”

“Huh?” Dipper looked up from the portable radio he had been carrying around all day, fiddling with the dial to catch more snippets of the mysterious broadcast. “Oh, um--”

“Dipper doesn’t want to join,” Mabel said. “He’s being a stick-inna-mud.”

“I’m not being a stick-inna-mud,” Dipper shot back. “I’m trying to decode this message…” The radio crackled to life again, spitting out another string of words and numbers: “4249313… ROCK… 123085113… ROCK...”

“Spooooooky…” Wendy said, wiggling her fingers.

“There’s a definite pattern to it, so it has to mean _something_ ,” Dipper mused, jotting down some notes in his notebook.

“Wendy, can you let me know how this sounds?” Mabel asked, pulling her over the corner where she and Soos’ instruments were set up. “I think it needs a little more ‘oomph...’”

Dipper was engrossed in his investigation as the tiny gift shop filled with the sounds of _Tacos! You make me swoon!_

\---

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted out the bedroom window, up to the overhang on the roof. Dipper was perched at the roof’s edge, fiddling with the dial on the radio.

“Just a minute!” Dipper replied. “I can almost get a better signal up here…”

“The GFMF is _tomorrow!_ ” Mabel protested, frowning up at his through the window. “We still need to practice the song intro. You can do your weirdo radio number-y thing later.”

“I almost got it, though, Mabel,” Dipper explained. He gasped as he picked up the broadcast again, holding up the radio to try to amplify it. “Come on, come on…” The radio crackled, spitting out a set of numbers before dying away. “Argh! There has to be a way to boost the signal… There are too many trees around here...”

“Dipper!” Mabel called again. “Stick-inna-mud…”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming…” Dipper sighed. He tucked the radio under his arm and climbed back down through the window into their shared bedroom. “See: There are four main broadcasts, and they repeat cyclically every two hours… But then there’s this other weird set of numbers that pop in sporadically. It seem like they’re coordinates on a path leading to… _somewhere_... What are you wearing?”

“The Melodimeter 3000!” Mabel said proudly. She had somehow attached a set of cymbals and a banjo to Dipper’s tuba, which was wrapped around her torso. On her knees were small drums like knee pads, and her legs were shaking slightly under the weight of the unwieldy musical contraption.

Mabel pouted at him. “Can’t random weirdo numbers just be random weirdo numbers?” she asked. “Grunkel Stan said not to get too into it, too…”

“Grunkel Stan is too paranoid,” Dipper replied, pulling out a map of Gravity Falls from under his bed. “See!” He spread out the map on top of his bed. “The numbers correspond to longitude and latitude positions.” He placed dots on the map at the points he had figured out before. “And when you connect them, it’s a path leading through the woods! But… to where? I’m just missing the last few coordinates…” He picked up the radio again, fiddling with the dial.

Mabel gritted her teeth. “Dipper, we’re supposed to practice. You promised we would.” She reached for the radio to snatch it away from her brother’s hands.

Dipper yelped, pulling it back. “I almost got it, Mabel! Ack!” He tried to keep the radio away from Mabel’s reach, holding it high over his head. The radio suddenly crackled to life again, the mysterious signal coming in clearer than it ever had before. “Wait! Mabel, stop!”

“Huh?” Mabel asked, glancing up at the radio, which Dipper was holding in front of the mouth of the tuba.

“My tuba! It’s picking up the signal!” Dipper cried triumphantly. “Stay right there!” He grabbed a roll of duct tape from under his bed, and a moment later had the radio taped to the mouth of the tuba, leaving his hands free to write down the string of numbers coming from the speaker. “This is it! I’m so close…”

Mabel sighed. “If we go out and look for wherever this radio signal is telling us to go, then can we come back here and practice?”

“I promise,” Dipper replied, giving her a weak smile. “It won’t take long. I just want to check it out…”

Mabel gave him a skeptical look, but sighed. “Okay. I’m gonna bring Waddles, too. He’s needs to work on his tambourine solo.”

\---

“We’ve been walking _forever_ , Dipper,” Mabel whined, trudging behind her brother, weighed down under the Melodimeter 3000. “And this thing is getting heavier...” Waddles followed closely behind her.

“We’re getting closer, I know it,” Dipper replied, pausing to check his map.

“There’s _nothing_ out there, Dipper... You’re just making excuses,” Mabel grumbled. “Stop being a stick-inna-mud!”

“I told you before,” Dipper huffed, “I don’t want to perform in front of everyone.”

“It’ll be fun, though,” Mabel countered. “This is something I want us to do _together_.”

“I said I didn’t want to!” Dipper exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll just sound bad and everyone will laugh at me.”

“Fine!” Mabel grumped. “Be a stick-inna-mud. I’ll go practice with Soos…” She turned around to trudge away, but Dipper yelped and grabbed at her. 

“Wait! I need the radio!” he cried.

“Be careful!” Mabel shouted as Dipper tried to pull the radio free from its duct tape cocoon at the mouth of the tuba. “You’ll break it!” She pulled back suddenly, landing in the dirt on her backside, just as there was a loud crash. She opened her eyes to see the radio laying in pieces on the forest floor.

“You broke it!” Dipper cried.

“I did not! It just fell,” Mabel countered, shakily getting to her feet. “You almost broke the Melodimeter 3000!”

“I was so close to finding the source of the signal,” Dipper lamented, picking up the broken shards of the radio’s plastic casing.. “...What’s Waddles doing?”

Mabel gasped. “He can hear the signal! It must be at a frequency only pigs can hear…”

“I thought that was just dogs,” Dipper replied. Waddles let out a loud oink and suddenly took off into the brush, running quicker than a pig his size should be able to.

“Waddles!” Mabel cried, taking off after the pig. “Come back! You dropped your tambourine!”

“Mabel!”

\---

“He went in there!” Mabel shouted, catching up in time to see Waddles’ curly tail disappear down the dark mouth of the cave they came upon.

“The map says it’s Labrosones Cave,” Dipper replies, stopping at the cave’s entrance to catch his breath. 

“Waddles! Come back!” Mabel cried, starting to run for the mouth of the cave.

“Wait!” Dipper stopped her. “It’s too dangerous to go alone.” He looked into the dark, seemingly endless void of the cavern, and swallowed hard.

“We have to get Waddles back,” Mabel sniffed. “I don’t want to lose another band member.”

Dipper sighed. “I dragged you out here and made you miss practice, so… I’ll help you find Waddles. Hopefully he’s the _only_ thing down there.”

Mabel gave him an encouraging little smile, took her brother’s hand and stepped with him into the dark. 

\---

“Waddles! Waaaaadles!” Mabel called.

“For a pig, he moves fast,” Dipper said.

Mabel suddenly stopped in her tracks. “What’s that noise?”

“It sounds like… music?” Dipper said with disbelief, as they stumbled into an open chamber in the cave. Stacked high to the ceiling was old radio equipment, stereo speakers, and various other electronic detritus, covered with blinking lights. Thick wires snaked across the floor, leading to a narrow opening among a stack of transistors, from where a deep, pulsing sound was emanating. As the twins cautiously made their way through the transistors, the music grew louder, reverberating through the rock floor, and Dipper could catch snippets of a familiar-sounding voice: _“5...6...7...ROCK...5...6...7...ROCK...5...6...7...”_

“Waddles, are you in here?” Mabel called over the music.

“What’s this?” Dipper asked, pushing his way through a hanging tangle of cords. He gasped when he suddenly walked into something solid. He realized a second later it was a chair, and a second after that someone was sitting in the chair.

Screams from Dipper, Mabel and the stranger filled the cave as they came face-to-face, the twins’ own horrified expressions reflected in the black visor that covered the stranger’s face.

The music suddenly stopped. Dipper’s ears were ringing.

“A spy! It’s a spy!” Mabel cried.

“What are you doing here?!” the stranger demanded. He started to rise from his chair, but tripped over Waddles. “Oof! Is that a pig?”

“Waddles!” Mabel snatched back her beloved pet.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Dipper countered, still catching his breath. “What is all this? Who are you?”

“ _Me?_ ” the stranger asked.

“Yeah! What kind of secret message are you broadcasting?” Dipper asked.

“Broadcasting? Secret messages? I’m not--! I just want to be left down here in peace.”

“You have a lot of stuff down here. Is this all secret spy stuff?” Mabel asked. She twisted a dial, causing an ear-splitting twang to reverberate throughout the cave that shook the stacks of radio equipment.

“Ack! Don’t touch that, I’ve got it just the way I like it!” the stranger cried, jumping in to adjust the dial. The sound quickly died down, leaving Dipper shaking his head to clear the ringing from his ears. “And I’m not a spy!” The stranger huffed and reached up to pull off his helmet, revealing a… fairly ordinary-looking middle-aged man. Running a hand over his locks with an annoyed sigh, he turned back to the twins. “How did you get down here?” he asked.

“On the radio,” Dipper explained, pulling out his notebook. “There was a weird broadcast -- it was just random numbers and words -- and it lead me here.” He flipped to a page filled with scribbled notes and deductions.

The man stared at it for a moment, then laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Dipper asked, tucking the notebook away.

“Huh, the composition of the rock and the shape of the cave must be amplifying the frequency somehow…” the man mused as he sat back down in his chair, which was in front of an array of keyboards. “No, no, it’s just my music. No secret messages or spying or government conspiracies or anything like that.”

“Music?” Mabel asked.

The man nodded, resting the helmet in his lap, which the twins could see was a motorcycle helmet, on the crown of which was painted a question mark wreathed with little lightning bolt symbols. “My name is Erik Hammond. I’m an electronic music artist.”

Dipper blinked. “And you live in a cave because…?”

“I have to!” Erik lamented. “I’m too ashamed to return to my hometown. I can never show my face in Gravity Falls again.”

“What happened?” Mabel asked.

“No other person must know!” Erik protested. “It is too shameful.”

“Come on, living alone in a cave, playing music, wearing that helmet… There has to be a story behind it,” Dipper said.

Erik swallowed hard, eyeing the twins. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise,” Dipper said. 

“Scout’s honor!” Mabel added. “Don’t worry, Waddles is good at keeping secrets, too.”

Erik took a deep breath. “Okay. It started _way_ back... in the year… _of 1983!_. I worked as a technician at the Gravity Falls radio station. It was a good job, but my _real_ passion was music. Afflicted with stubby fingers since birth, however, guitars and other instruments were -- literally -- out of my grasp. I thought I would never be able to achieve my dream of writing music that people love.

“But!” Erik jumped from his chair, finger pointed triumphantly to the ceiling. “After working with radio equipment day in and day out, transmitters and turntables and buzzers and buttons, I realized: this stuff doesn’t just have to broadcast the weather and Top 40; you can make your own _music_ with it! So I took some equipment home, tinkered with it and practiced. I was so inspired! The notes came to me like I knew them all my life. I knew I was doing something special, and I had to share it with the world.”

“What did you do then?” Mabel asked, enraptured by the musician’s tale.

“I didn’t do _anything_ , for a long time,” Erik said glumly. “I wasn’t sure if people would understand it. And, let’s face it, I don’t look anything like a rock star. And I have stage fright. And what if people really didn’t like it? What if they booed me off stage? I wouldn’t be able to live with the embarrassment.”

“That sounds familiar,” Mabel said, elbowing Dipper in his side.

“Then it dawned on me: it doesn’t have to be _me_ on stage! If I wore my moped helmet and used a stage name, no one would know it was me! So, I decided to debut my creation at the 1983 Gravity Falls Music Festival. I was super-nervous, but I knew that everyone would appreciate my innovation. They wouldn’t be able to believe what they heard! I proudly took my place on the stage as the anonymous musician the _Mystery Frequency!_ ”

“So then what happened?” Dipper asked.

“They really couldn’t believe what they heard,” Erik said. “It was… _too new_ for them. They didn’t understand it! They didn’t know _how_ to understand it! ‘It sounds like cries from the underworld!’ they cried. Babies wailed and women wept, men gnashed their teeth. Quickly, the townspeople took their confusion and anger to the streets.” He shuddered, shaking his head. “It took downtown Gravity Falls weeks to recover from the damage.”

“So because people booed you off stage that _one_ time--”

“--and rioted through the town!” Mabel added.

“--yeah, and rioted through Gravity Falls,” Dipper continued, “you’ve been hiding down here? That sounds a bit _extreme._ ”

“If no one liked my work, what was the point of sticking around up there?” Erik sighed, slumping again at his keyboard. “At least if it stays down here, no one can laugh at me.”

“I really like your music, though!” Mabel said, grinning. “It has a beat, and you can dance to it.”

“Yeah, it sounds like the stuff Wendy and her friends listen to,” Dipper said.

“You really think people now would like it?” Erik asked cautiously.

“You should play at the GFMF tomorrow!” Mabel exclaimed. “Everyone would _love_ it!”

“I don’t know,” Erik murmured.

“This is something you love to do, right?” Dipper asked. Erik nodded in answer. “Well, if you love it, then it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Just because people don’t get it now, doesn’t mean they won’t later. You just have to go out and try it! What good does it do to hide in a cave for, what? Thirty years? Wait, how is that even possible?”

“Will you think about it?” Mabel pleaded to Erik.

Erik sighed. “I’ll think about it. I mean, I don’t know...”

“It’s tomorrow in the town square,” Mabel said.

“We should get going, though,” Dipper said, tugging at Mabel’s sleeve. “It was really great to meet you, Erik.” He smiled at the musician, who seemed to brighten up a bit. “If it helps, you should know that you at least have two fans.”

“Awww, that’s very kind of you,” Erik replied, seeming to cheer up. “Here, I’ll give you a tape. It’s a demo I put together before, you know. I thought maybe a record company could sign me, but. That was just a dream.”

“What _is_ this?” Mabel asked as she took the cassette, looking at it with fascination.

“Don’t give up,” Dipper added, smiling at Erik. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow!” Mabel called back as she and Waddles started making their way out. Dipper followed close behind them, waving good-bye to Erik.

“I really liked what you said to Erik down there,” Mabel said as they exited the cave

“Yeah… Hey, it _was_ good, wasn’t it,” Dipper replied, chuckling. “You shouldn’t be worried about what people will think of you, even if it’s weird or embarrassing.”

“That’s my life philosophy!” Mabel pointed out, grinning.

“You know what?” Dipper said, pounding his fist together determinedly. “I _will_ play at the GFMF with you and Waddles and Soos. No matter what, it will be fun. Oh, geez, I haven’t been able to practice with you two…”

“That’s okay,” Mabel said. “I taught Waddles to play the bongos, so you’re just on tambourine.”

“Oh. Okay,” Dipper said. “Well, then I’ll be the best tambourinist I can be!”

“That’s the spirit!”

\---

“...and that was Old Man McGunket, with his musical spoons,” the KRPY DJ announced, as old man gave a whoop and toddled off the stage, still banging the metal utensils against his legs. “Next up, Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland will perform their original ballad, ‘I Can’t Put My Love on Probation.’”

“Erik hasn’t shown up yet,” Mabel said, peeking through the curtains behind the stage.

“Well, it’s still pretty early,” Dipper replied, trying to be helpful. The law officers exited the stage to a round of applause, as the next musical act was announced.

“Hey, Wendy’s ex-boyfriend is playing,” Dipper said, watching through the curtains. He smirked when Wendy, sitting near the front, rolled her eyes at Robbie’s performance.

“Dipper, are you ready? We’re almost up,” Mabel reminded him, giving her brother an encouraging smile.

“What? It’s almost time?” Dipper gasped, his knees shaking.

“Remember: It’s just for fun, and it doesn’t matter what everyone out there or any record producer or Wendy thinks,” Mabel explained.

Dipper took a deep breath. “Right, right. Soos, are you ready?”

“Let’s rock!” Soos exclaimed, pumping his fist. He picked up his keyboard to walk out on stage with the twins -- Dipper carrying his tambourine and Mabel her Melodimeter 3000 -- Waddles toddling behind them.

“Next up, please give a round of applause for the Electric Candyland, featuring ‘Let-Loose’ Soos and Waddles--” the announcer began.

“--Wait!” came a cry from the back of the audience. A man scampered down the middle aisle, huffing under the weight of a turntable and speakers. “Wait! I want to play! I _need_ to play!”

The twins gasped with delight when they spotted the familiar moped helmet. “You made it!” Mabel squeeled.

“Uh, sir,” the announcer began.

“--No, no, it’s okay! He can go before us!” Dipper cut in, grinning.

“And what’s your name, sir?” the announcer asked as Erik bounded up onto the stage.

Erik plunked his equipment down and swept out his hand, like an explorer surveying an unknown and exciting land. “I am… the Mystery Frequency!” He pressed a button on his turntable and a booming bass shocked the audience, shaking their seats. The song quickly settled into a hard rolling beat, the Mystery Frequency masterfully working the nobs and dials on his music equipment. “2...3...4...DROP...5...6...7...ROCK…”

Much of the audience watched in confusion for a moment, but their befuddlement was interrupted by whoops from the group of teenagers near the front of the stage. “Yeah, work it!” Nate cried, clearing a space for Thompson to groove.

“Finally, something I can dance to!” Wendy proclaimed, rocking out as record producer Rick Reuben looked on with interest.

Swept up in the beat, Soos quickly joined in, adding in a few helpful explosion sound effects from his keyboard, and Mabel produced some surprisingly skillful notes from her musical contraption. Even Dipper played along, shaking his tambourine, and Waddles oinked to the beat.

“They’re right, it does have a great beat,” Sheriff Blubs said. “Like back from my disco days.”

“Keep it going!” Lee shouted from the group of teenagers as a portion of the audience formed into an impromptu dance party.

Elated, the Mystery Frequency continued, pushing the beat harder and faster, until it reached a crescendo and he finally spun it down, and the song ended with a roaring explosion from Soos’ keyboard. The audience erupted into applause.

“You did it!” Mabel cried.

“And they loved it!” Dipper added. “See? No rioting.”

“Yeah…” Erik replied, catching his breath as he pulled off his helmet. “Yeah! They got it!”

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere…?” the KRPY DJ asked Erik, puzzled.

The audience called for an encore, and the Electric Candyland, featuring ‘Let-Loose’ Soos and Waddles ‘The Duke’ Pines quickly exited the stage to give the Mystery Frequency the full spotlight. The last he saw of Erik after the show was Rick Reuben walking up to him, mentioning a record contract.

“Come on, Dipper!” Mabel broke in. “Let’s start writing our song for next year’s GFMF!”

“What? We’re doing this _again_?”

\---

“Coming up next on Mountain Music Television,” the announcer’s voice boomed from the old television set, “the latest and greatest from the Mystery Frequency, featuring the hit hip hop artist Mackerelmore! Only on MMTV, this is ‘99-cent Shop.’”

Mabel and Dipper stared at the screen as the music video started, the Mystery Frequency in his signature helmet spinning at a turntable, while the famous musical Billy Big Mouth Bass rapped about purchasing cans of Spam and knock-off Chinese toys.

Mabel slumped against the side of Stan’s armchair. “I liked him better _before_ he was popular.”

\---

VKDNH VKDNH VKDNH

VKDNH VKDNH VKDNH

VKDNH BRXU ERRWB  
VKDNH BRXU ERRWB


End file.
